


Sick Day

by missdorothysnarker



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Brunch, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M, Vomiting, bottomless mimosas are never a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdorothysnarker/pseuds/missdorothysnarker
Summary: More tooth-rotting fluff because apparently I can't get enough of protective!Armie taking care of smol sick Timmy.





	Sick Day

Armie should have known that Timmy plus bottomless mimosas was a bad idea.

But they were drinking away their sorrows from the SAG awards, eating brunch in a dark booth at some hipster joint in downtown LA. 

Timmy proceeded to gorge himself on carrot cake pancakes and getting shitfaced on the free-flowing champagne and orange juice while Armie gnawed on some hickory-maple smoked bacon. 

Timmy had been jabbering away eagerly about the upcoming Oscar nominations. Armie envied him his enthusiasm and energy. At this stage in the PR game, he was at a low ebb for media bullshit, parroting the same behind-the-scenes anecdotes and sound bytes ad naesium.

Armie was starting to feel sleepy from the alcohol and rich food when he noticed that Timmy Was Drunk. Very, very drunk. Slurring his words, staggering back from the bathroom, laughing obnoxiously loud. Of course it didn't take much for the little beanpole to get soused, but they were starting to get stared out. It was time to go, before anyone recognized them and started filming Hollywood's New It Boy white-boy-wasted at 1pm on a Sunday and sell it to TMZ. 

“Ok, Timmy, time to go,” he'd grit out, grabbing Timmy's flailing arm, ready to march him out.

“But I don't wanna...” Timmy whined piteously, batting his eyes.

“Too bad, buddy, I already called us a Lyft and he's gonna be here any moment.” 

Miraculously, Armie's phone chimed indicating their Lyft had just arrived outside. He had to drag Timmy outside and into the backseat amidst a flurry of long squirming limbs. Finally Timmy gave up and just moaned and groaned, clutching his stomach. 

They were halfway home when Timmy started puking up brunch all over the backseat of the Lyft, much to the anger of their driver. Armie was trying to get the driver to pull over and stop yelling about his damn car, he'd pay the cleaning fees – but then Timmy began to cry, face sodden and tear-streaked.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, don't hate me, I'm so gross –” he sobbed. It wasn't clear if he was talking to Armie or the driver or both.

Armie rubbed his back soothingly. “Hey Timmy, it's fine, don't worry... We're gonna get you home and cleaned up soon, ok?”

“You don't hate me?” Timmy's long eyelashes were matted together from his tears and he smelled sickly sweet from chunks of vomit surrounding them. Despite that, he still looked like a fucking angel and made Armie's gut clench just looking at him.

But being a dad to two little kids, Armie was well-versed in throw up protocol. 

“Of course I don't hate you, man. I love you, and a little vomit isn't gonna change that, ok?” 

Timmy nodded, eyes drooping shut. Sleepy, like a little kid.

After a curt goodbye to the Lyft driver – but fuck that guy for making Timmy cry, like no one ever threw up in his car before – Armie half-carried a retching Timmy over the threshold of his Los Feliz mansion – Spanish colonial, natch, thanks to Elizabeth's Southwest roots.

Speaking of Elizabeth, she, Harper and Ford were outside splashing in the pool – he could hear them shrieking while playing. Hopefully they didn't come into the master bath to see their dad strip the sticky, foul-smelling clothes off of Timmy who stood limp as a mannequin, nude in the middle of the blue floral rug.

“Come on kid, up we go.” He heard his voice sound rough as he hoisted Timmy into the sleek white lines of the tub, the steel faucets cold to the touch despite the hot water they spat out.

“You're so nice to me... I don't know why...” murmured Timmy, gazing at him through half-slit eyes. 

“You know why,” said Armie, rolling up his sleeves as he used the shower head to spray Timmy clean. His wild curls, his sharp little bones. Pale white skin blotching pink-red under the onslaught of heat.

Timmy sighed, groaning a little. Armie only pulled him out once he started getting too drowsy – last thing they needed was for Timmy to drown while being bathed in his bathtub. What a scandal that would be.

Timmy stood still again as Armie wrapped him in a robe, way too big for him of course, toweling his hair dry. Even though the kid was naked and still drunk as a skunk, Armie felt dirty about dwelling on what /this/ was. What was happening, was it sexual... 

Nope, just a bro helping a bro out, he thought sardonically. His very bloodstream seemed to beat with overwhelming affection for Timmy... Arousal? Attraction? Maybe.

“I just want to touch you all the time,” he whispered into Timmy's wet hair. 

“I know. I want you to.”

“I just want to take care of you,” he said, the words feeling awkward and clumsy in his mouth.

“You are taking care of me, silly,” said Timmy, eyes blinking owlishly. “I wanna brush my teeth, can I borrow a toothbrush?” 

“Sure, of course.” Back to being the good host, the fleeting intimacy gone.

But as Timmy brushed his teeth, he caught Armie's gaze at the back of his neck in the mirror. He spat out the minty foam, rinsed and turned around.

Armie cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“Need anything else? Pretty sure we have Pedialyte stockpiled, and chicken noodle soup, and gatorade... I think we got Peptobismal here too, for the kids. You want ramen? I can get some for you, order UberEats or something...”

“I'm tired. Will you come lie down with me and rub my belly?”

Armie can't even look him in the eye, afraid of showing how much he wants to.

“Yeah, of course. I think we have a heating pad too, that always helps...”

He watches, open-mouthed, as Timmy slithers into the master bed naked, shedding the robe on the floor. Nestled up inside the navy and white striped sheets so only his curly head is peeking out.

Armie doesn't say anything, just slips off his shoes and spoons close behind his back, hand stroking his stomach soothingly. 

He kisses the mole freckling Timmy's bare shoulder and Timmy makes a happy little grunt, nuzzling back into his arms.

Armie shuts his eyes, following suit. Allowing himself to feel content and safe. Even happy for a moment, before drifting off into sleep.


End file.
